Changes in Latitude, Changes in Attitude
by CastielhasthePhoneBox
Summary: Ten years ago, Dean Winchester graduated from Lawrence High as one of the most loved and hated students to saunter those halls, but he hasn't been back in Lawrence since his dad's death eight years ago. He never thought he'd return, but a lot has changed in the last decade. Now he finds himself back again for what he thinks might be the worst reason ever. His high school reunion.
1. Return

_Note: I couldn't find a good picture of Lawrence High School, so I made it up. Just think of this as an alternate universe version of. If you are from Lawrence or just Kansas and notice any errors—shhh! (Sorry! No offences meant!)_

"Do we really have to go in?" Dean asks, his voice more whiny than he will ever admit to, looking at the sight before him with a look of disgust on his face. All around him, cars sit in ignorance of his situation, uncaring that this is seriously the last place on earth he wants to be at the moment. Even his baby looks back at him with zero sympathy, despite the fact that it is partly the Impala's fault that he's here. If she had just broken down like he has prayed for the last week before coming here, this wouldn't be a problem.

He shoots her a dirty look before looking back at his equally unsympathetic boyfriend. Castiel is dressed in a light blue button up with a rumpled black tie—didn't he iron the damn thing this morning?—and Dean just wants to take him back to their motel room and peel those stupid clothes off of him. He looks like a goddamn school teacher (probably because he is), but all Dean wants is to have his Cas all to himself and to not go to this stupid event.

"Yes, Dean," he replies, giving Dean the _look_. It is the look that brooked zero protest (and promised to withhold sex if he didn't cooperate). "We drove nine hours to get here. We're going in."

Dean pouts. "But Cas, you promised we could leave early if it was really bad," he so totally didn't whine. "It's bad, come on. Let's go. We could make it to St. Louis in four hours if we drive fast. I know how much you like the Cardinals."

Castiel doesn't roll his eyes because he is more mature than that, but it's a close thing.

"We haven't even gone in yet," he responds evenly, pushing Dean forward slightly. "And it's you who likes the Cardinals."

Dean grumbles incoherently, but allows his partner to push him towards the ominous building looming over them. All right. It's not that ominous, and it really doesn't loom that much considering the fact that it's only a one-story building. But Dean still doesn't want to go in. He's been putting this off since he got the first letter several months ago.

_ Several Months Ago…_

The first letter came on a rainy Wednesday afternoon and really, thank god for that because it meant he could rip it up before Castiel got home and asked him about it. He didn't even bother reading it because anything with that stupid lion on the envelope was something he didn't want to look at. When Castiel came home from school, Dean had dinner ready and had already forgotten about the stupid letter.

The second time, Castiel found it and looked absolutely delighted that his boyfriend was getting mail from his old high school. Cas had been home schooled, or else Dean thought he really wouldn't be so freaking excited.

"They're probably asking for money," he said, preparing to give this letter the same treatment as the last. The only thing that stopped him was a glance up at his partner to find a look of deep disappointment on his face. _Shit_. Now he had to open the stupid envelope. Sighing to himself exaggeratedly, Dean slipped his finger into the top, ripping open the envelope. When he pulled out the letter, feeling a strange sense of déjà vu, Castiel's eyes lit up with interest and he had to admit that he was glad he had given in.

He _was_ glad, that is, until he read what was in the letter.

_Please join us for Lawrence High School's class of 1997's ten-year reunion!_

Oh god. No. _Hell_ no.

"Uh, it's nothing, Cas," Dean muttered, already starting to crumple it up. The schoolteacher didn't look at all convinced. He always had been able to tell when Dean was lying. The look he gave him was one of expectation, as if he didn't even need to ask for Dean to tell him the truth. He didn't.

"It's just a stupid event at my old school, man," he admitted, throwing the crumpled paper into the bin by the desk. Shrugging nonchalantly, he subtly changed the topic, "What do you want to do for dinner tonight?"

Castiel's brows flew up but, miracle of miracles, he dropped it. That night, Dean breathed a sigh of relief, expecting that to be the end of it.

It wasn't.

It took several more weeks, but it did come up again. While Dean was usually the one at home because of the fact that he worked from his home office, on this particular day he was out at a meeting with a client, so he wasn't the one to answer the phone when they called.

"Dean, your school called today," he announced when Dean walked in the door. Pulling his jacket off, Dean frowned in confusion.

"Cas, you're the one with the school here," he replied in a puzzled tone, pulling his tie off and tossing it at the spot where he had just thrown his jacket.

Castiel smiled in amusement and clarified, "Your old high school. I spoke with a lovely woman by the name of Becky. She was in your class, apparently. Do you remember her?"

Dean stared at his boyfriend for a long time before he shook his head. He had done his best to block high school out of his memory.

"Well," Castiel continued, looking pleased with himself, "Becky was telling me that your ten-year reunion is in a couple of months. I told her that you would definitely be there!"

He looked so proud of himself that Dean hardly knew how to break it to him that he sure as hell wasn't going to that thing. After a moment of deliberation, he decided that straight forward was probably the best way.

"Cas, I hate to break it to you," he started, trying to be nice about it but failing miserably because he couldn't control his own damn mouth. "But I sure as hell ain't going to that thing."

He immediately regretted the words. Castiel looked so devastated that he wished he could have agreed, or at the very least put it better. Since he couldn't take it back, he settled for comforting the older man now. He stepped forward, pulling Castiel into his arms. Instead of melting into him like he usually did, the man stiffened in his arms.

"Babe…"

Castiel pouted. Well, that's what Dean was calling that look anyway. Castiel probably wouldn't agree.

"Dean, I really think this would be a good opportunity for you," he told him, moving away toward the kitchen. "I know how you feel about your high school and I think this could be very good closure for you."

Now it was Dean's turn to pout (if he pouted, which he didn't).

With a sigh, he followed Castiel into the other room. "Come on, Cas," he moaned. "I got closure the day I graduated from that hellhole. Trust me, you don't want me going back there. I don't want you there. That place… those _people_. I left for a reason, babe."

Castiel opened the fridge, but turned to look at his lover rather than at the contents.

"Why don't you want me there?" he asked quietly, looking at the younger man searchingly.

Dean fidgeted, because they had talked about this before, but only vaguely. He didn't really want Castiel, who in some ways was really kind of naïve, to know everything that he had done in high school. He hadn't blocked those memories because of what _other_ people did.

"'Cause…" he answered eloquently. Castiel closed the door to the refrigerator again and leaned back against it with his hands held in front of him patiently.

"Look, I told you what kinda guy I was back then," he said, looking anywhere but at those understanding blue eyes. "I don't wanna go back to that. I don't wanna see those people. And dammit, Cas, I don't want them to see you."

Castiel's eyes softened. "You've changed," he said, stepping into Dean's person space and placing his palm against his cheek. "Perhaps some of them have too."

Dean took the next obvious step and kissed those gorgeous lips before shaking his head. "They didn't."

The dark-haired man pulled away with a sigh and went to the cabinet next to the fridge. Pulling out a packet of spaghetti, he asked quietly, "Is pasta all right? I'm not really in the mood to cook much tonight."

And now he felt guilty. "Come on. Baby, you know how unlikely it is that any of those jerks stopped being homophobic assholes. I don't want you to have to put up with that."

"Do you want pasta?"

Dean just stared at him and then shrugged. "Sure. Pasta sounds fine."

Thinking maybe that was the end of the conversation, he unbuttoned the top buttons of his shirt and sat down at the table. Already thinking about his meeting earlier that day, he had to make Castiel repeat himself when he spoke again.

"I asked, why are you only worried about the way they will treat me?"

That wasn't a question he had expected. "Because," he responded, feeling especially articulate tonight. He took a deep breath and tried again. "I mean, you don't deserve that. You shouldn't have to put up with that crap."

He was met with a raised brow and a question. "You think you deserve to be treated poorly?"

The younger man shrugged, mumbling incoherently and looking down at his hands. While he wasn't looking, Castiel came up behind him and slid his arms around him.

"_Dean_," he breathed, his voice gravelly and his breath warm on Dean's neck. "You do not deserve to be treated poorly." His lips pressed against the younger man's neck briefly before he continued, "You are a good man. You have _changed_."

Dean shivered, but didn't respond.

It didn't come up again until the next night when they were in bed. Dean was reading an article about BMW's recent redesign (it was absolute crap in his opinion) and working on forgetting last night's conversation. It was going pretty well, when Castiel slid into his lap, removing the magazine from his hands and carefully setting it on the bedside table. Unsuspecting, Dean grinned and helped Cas reposition himself more firmly on his lap.

"Hey, babe," he murmured lowly, pretty pleased with this turn in his night.

Castiel pressed his lips to Dean's jaw and murmured, "Hello Dean." Shifting forward, he rolled his hips so that his crotch rubbed down against his boyfriend's. Dean moaned low and placed his hands on the older man's hips. Castiel moved against him again and again, eliciting soft keening noises from Dean (that they both knew he made but about which Dean had forbidden him from ever telling anyone).

"Cas Cas Cas…" he muttered incoherently, sliding his hands up and down Cas's waist. "So sexy."

Castiel smiled and kissed his lover on the mouth, carding his hands into sandy blonde hair. Dean's hand moved down to a very firm ass and he grinned into Cas's mouth at the surprised sound he emitted. In response, the older man shifted back just slightly so that he was no longer seated up against him so close and placed his hands on Dean's chest.

Giving Dean a look that could only be read as determined, Castiel slid one hand down his lover's chest, slowly making his way toward the hemline of his pajama shirt. Licking his lips, the blonde did his best not to move even while his hips slowly rolled up toward Castiel's coming hand. Licking at his boyfriend's now straining neck, the dark-haired man finally pushed his long fingers beneath the elastic band of Dean's flannel bottoms.

"_Caaas_..." Dean bit out the name like a prayer, moaning shamelessly when the man in question wrapped those long fingers around his cock just the way he liked it. Cas knew exactly how to drive this man crazy, knew exactly how tight to hold him and how fast to move, and right now he put that knowledge to use. Pressing his lips to Dean's now straining neck, he freed his lover's cock from his pants and began working his fist up and down its length slowly. Humming in satisfaction, Castiel rubbed himself against Dean's legs, loving the friction against his own crotch and the sight of how he could take the man he loved apart with one hand and a few kisses.

"C'mon, Cas," Dean groaned, slurring his words incoherently. By now, he was bucking up into Castiel's tight fist at a faster pace, trying to urge him to move faster. In response, Cas tightened his grip but slowed down again, rubbing his thumb over the leaking head. " C'mon, c'mon, c'mon!"

A deep kiss and a dozen more pumps had Dean losing it at last. Shouting out the name of the man in his lap, he came in Castiel's fist. He continued rolling his hips up slowly for a while longer before he finally had to stop Cas's hand. Letting out a deep sigh, he rested his head back against the headboard and promised himself that as soon as he regained his bones he would return the favor for the man who had just given him a handjob.

"Damn, Cas," Dean breathed. "What was that for?"

Castiel moved off of his lap and sat next to him in silence for a moment. And that was when the ball dropped.

"I didn't get to have a high school experience," he informed Dean quietly, still slightly out of breath. He looked over at his partner with that stupid serious frown that his boyfriend really hated (but secretly sort of loved) and laid his hand on the younger man's thigh.

Beginning to see where this was going and not liking it _at all_, Dean joked, "Babe, you're in high school still. I'd think that was plenty of experience."

The teacher tilted his head toward one side and then licked his lips in a manner that seemed almost experimental. Dean's breath hitched in his throat at the small movement.

"I would like to experience a high school reunion," he replied smoothly, running his hand slowly up Dean's thigh. "Considering I'll never get to go to one of my own, yours is my only chance."

Oh shit. This is what he was playing at? First sex and now guilt? Damnit if the guy didn't know him scarily well. Still. He wasn't going to give in. He would not be going to that goddamn reunion.

_Now…_

Castiel laces his hand into Dean's and tugs him forward, a triumphant smile on his face as he guides the younger man toward the school. It took several weeks, a lot of mind-blowing sex, and daily battering, but he finally gave in. Already he knows that he shouldn't have, but he had always had a problem saying 'no' to the blue-eyed man. There are only so many times he could say it before he has to cave. Which is how he finds himself being dragged toward the entrance to a school he had sworn to himself he would never return to, a bunch of black and red balloons and a tacky sign to greet him. It reads in cheerful, hand painted letters:

**WELCOME CLASS OF '97!**


	2. Changes

2.

As far as Dean is concerned, the school hasn't changed one damn bit, only now everything looks even more tacky and outdated than it did ten years ago. Castiel looks around excitedly, as if seeing what other high schools look like is some kind of thrill—or perhaps because he thinks the off white walls and linoleum tiles will tell him something about the man he loves. If he's being completely honest with himself, something he does his best to avoid doing, that is exactly what Dean is afraid of. That this man who is so freaking perfect and way too good for him will look around and see just what a screwed up dick he's saddled himself with.

He shakes his head and follows Cas toward a table laden with nametags and supervised by a woman whom Dean suddenly remembers. He scowls, because she looks exactly the same as she had ten years ago, only without that stupid camera around her neck so she could take pictures for yearbook. He remembers her following him and his friends around, snapping pictures and just generally being a nuisance. Now, her hair is longer and lighter, which might be pretty if she wasn't grinning like a crazy person. She's wearing a pink sweater vest over a pink plaid shirt with a nametag announcing in highlighter bright colors that her name is BECKY. When she opens her mouth, his suspicions are confirmed. She really is as goddamn obnoxious as she was in high school.

"Welcome back to LHS!" she squeals in a shrill voice that has Dean wincing. Before he can even consider saying anything, she goes on, "Wait—wait! Don't tell me who you are. I'll get this."

She stares at him for all of five seconds before positively shrieking, "Ohmygod you're Dean Winchester!"

Miracle of miracles, he manages not only to refrain from rolling his eyes, but even to halfheartedly respond, "Becky."

She grins toothily at him and then plucks a nametag off the table for him. When that has been managed she turns her eyes on Castiel, squinting at the man as if she can ascertain his name if only she stares long enough.

"And who is this?" she asks, seeming to realize that he isn't one of their old classmates.

"My partner," Dean replies without skipping a beat, really just wanting to get into the gym so he can mingle long enough for Cas to let him leave.

Becky just stares. "Like… business partner?" she squeaks, the look on her face unreadable.

Now he actually does roll his eyes. Snaking his arm around his boyfriend's waist and tugging the older man closer, Dean says simply, "No. Not like business partner."

They leave her gaping in shock, Castiel letting out an amused huff and Dean grumbling nonsensically to himself. They wordlessly decide that it is probably best not to walk in with their arms around one another, but still walk close to each other. Cas never had gotten the personal space thing, but now that they are together Dean has to admit that he loves that fact. Sometimes he can't stand being more than a few feet away from him, which is embarrassingly mushy and not something he'll ever admit to anyone (besides Cas, but that's usually in the privacy of their bedroom with the lights turned off).

The walk to the auditorium is lined with more of those stupid balloons, as well as signs with arrows leading them down the main hallway.

"Cas…" he starts, thinking that it's really not too late to go. One look over at the dark haired man has him shutting up though, because the look on Castiel's face is flat out annoyance. Considering that the older man has the patience of a freaking angel (probably why working as a high school math teacher hasn't totally ruined him), it's a pretty serious thing when he gets that look on his face.

"We're going to enjoy this," he informs Dean firmly, walking forward without any doubt that his partner will come along. "I'll get to meet your old friends, you'll get to see what has changed."

Now Dean does stop. "This isn't a Lifetime movie, babe," he says, his voice coming out harsher than he intended. Castiel frowns in that way of his, tilting his head to one side, but Dean rushes on. He's definitely made the teacher sit through enough Lifetime movies for him to know what they are by now. "Most of these people will be the same dickbags they were in high school, and that means they're not going to like us. I mean, you and I. Together. Most people don't get the chance to turn their lives around, like I did. Most people don't get a guardian angel."

Castiel's eyes soften and Dean thinks he probably scored with that last statement, even though that hadn't really been his intention. Castiel is every bit the angel of his namesake. Better even because he isn't some faceless, distant guardian. He's real, whole and so beautiful Dean doesn't know what to do with him. He's not perfect—he's grumpy in the mornings, and he sometimes takes his frustrations from school out on Dean—but he's about as close to perfect as anybody can get.

He sighs and thinks he should just throw away his mancard and start writing some goddamn poetry. Then he brushes off the thought and leads the rest of the way to the auditorium.

Looking at the auditorium as it is now was a weird mix of nostalgia and something else Dean can't quite place. Reluctance maybe. It looks different now—it's been repainted with a large picture of the school mascot on the far wall and it apparently no longer actually serves as an auditorium. They were sent a pamphlet a few weeks back talking about all of the changes to the school in the last ten years and building an actual theater had been one of them. What Dean had always thought of as the auditorium is now just a gym.

Now though, with the lights down and balloons everywhere, it looks the same way it did back in high school for school dances. That weird nostalgia feeling comes back and Dean finds himself slowing as they get to the door. He doesn't say anything, doesn't even look at Castiel this time. He can do this. He's a Winchester for fuck's sake. He's not afraid of a stupid high school gymnasium. Even if it does contain all the memories of a teenager whom he hates and the things he did.

This is the same gym where he took Amanda Heckerling, one of the hottest girls in school, to prom and then proceeded to ditch her for another girl. God, he can't even remember the other girl's name or why the hell he did that. He just remembers feeling so freaking glad that high school was nearly over.

This is the gym where he and his friends laughed at the fat kids and their token gay guy, ridiculing them during P.E. and just generally making their lives hell. He remembers… too much. Too goddamn much.

He takes a look at the other people in the gym, mingling and looking relatively happy, and makes a beeline for the punch. He hopes to god someone had the foresight to spike it. He doesn't think he can get through this sober. Before he or Cas can make it over there, however, he's stopped by a voice yelling out his name.

"Dean!" He winces and turns to see who's calling him, even though he already knows. He'd recognize that voice anywhere.

"Alastair," he intones flatly when the other man reaches him, flanked on either side by two of the other guys who had hung around with them during school. He recognizes them both but doesn't remember their names. They were Alastair's friends more than they were really ever Dean's.

"I can't believe you're here, Dean," he says, his voice even more nasally and slimy than Dean remembered it being. It makes his skin crawl and he steps closer to Castiel almost instinctually.

"Yeah, me neither," he replies, trying to look as if he actually wants to be having this conversation.

"So what brings you back after I haven't heard from you in nearly eight years?" Alastair asks, his voice holding the edge of a threat that Dean refuses to allow. Standing straighter and pretending that he doesn't remember why he had fallen in with this asshat in the first place, he pastes on that cocky smile from the old days just for a moment.

Dean shrugs, realizing that he's taking too long to respond. "Decided that I needed to get some closure," he responds finally. He flashes that same smile, not sure how to end the conversation without being rude. While that isn't normally a problem as far as he is concerned, he doesn't really feel the desire to sleep on the couch for the next month.

"Closure?" Alastair repeats. "This have something to do with your dad?"

And holy shit, but Dean would almost swear that that sounded like concern. Except it can't be. Alastair was and always had been a soulless bastard.

"For the most part," he answers. Then he smiles a real smile, a quieter one that he doesn't realize is a copy of Castiel's. "Guess I'm just trying to get over high school still."

Alastair's lip curls up to one side and he slides his hands into his pockets in a gesture that seems… nervous.

"Yeah, we did get up to some pretty, ah, interesting things, didn't we?" For a moment he looks nostalgic, maybe even regretful, but then he shrugs it off and that slimy smile slides back onto his lips.

"But that's high school, eh?" he looks wistful for a moment and then asks, "So what have you been up to all these years? I heard you got married."

Dean rakes a hand through his hair and lets out a long breath. "Yeah," he murmurs, his voice low. "Lisa… She's, uh… She passed away a few years back. Car accident."

Castiel slides his hand onto Dean's shoulder and Dean turns to look at him, taking in the soft look that's not really pity. This is one of the many reasons why he loves this man so much. With just a small look and a hand on his shoulder, he can make Dean feel, if not better, then at least not alone. Castiel has felt loss just like Dean has. He gets it.

Unfortunately, that little gesture draws Alastair's attention over to Castiel, something Dean had been hoping to god would not happen.

"And who is this?" Alastair asks. He squints at him for a moment and then tells him, "I don't remember him from school." He grins at Castiel for a moment and then admits, "Not that I really remember that many people from our school."

Dean returns the smile with something more akin to a wince and reluctantly introduces him, "This is Castiel. He's my, uh, partner."

He refuses to look away, even stands a little taller, just waiting for what he knows will come from that admission. And it does. Alastair stares at him for a long time before bursting out in laughter. The two men behind him follow suit, one going so far as to actually double over with it.

"That's hilarious," Alastair says then. "God, you even had me there for a moment. Dean Winchester, a goddamn fag. That's a good one."

Okay. This is admittedly not what he had been expecting. It's still not pleasant, however. He clenches his jaw and wraps an arm around his lover. That gets Alastair to sober up pretty quickly.

"Holy hell," he gasps then. "You are. You're a fucking homo."

He takes a step back then and a look of utter disgust crosses his features, twisting into a sneer.

Dean smirks in response, even though he doesn't feel like smiling. At all.

"Yeah, I am," he says, squeezing Castiel probably more than is necessary. "And you know what? I'm happy. I came here to put the rest the asshole I was in high school, because I'm a different guy now. What about you?"

The other man just shakes his head, looking as if he doesn't even have words bad enough to describe his disgust.

"I'm just glad you got your faggot ass out of town before you could _taint _anything else here," he hisses, before shaking his head one more time and turning away. Castiel grabs Dean's fist before he even realizes he raised it, shaking his head silently.

"It's okay, Dean," he murmurs, gently but firmly making Dean release the fist. "Let's go get some punch. We can talk to someone else."

He takes Dean's hand in his, lacing their fingers together, and guides the younger man over to the table where a large punch bowl is placed along side various finger foods. When they reach it, he carefully pours out two plastic cups and hands one to Dean silently. Dean can hardly look at him because he's not just angry at Alastair. He's angry at himself. Alastair may be absolute scum, but Dean was worse. Alastair may have made him into the kind of guy that could take over the school, but Dean did the rest. It was Dean who made all the girls trail after him until he could break their hearts in repayment for their adoration. It was Dean who made anyone that may have competed with him fear him instead.

Alastair may have started it, but Dean took it to the next level. In the end, Dean was the true demon of the two of them.

He takes a sip of the punch Castiel handed him, and then scowls when he realizes that it was just cool aid. No alcohol at all. Seriously? Knowing that Cas won't like it, but hoping that he'll let it go for the evening, Dean reaches into his jacket and pulls out the flask he stuck in the inner pocket this morning. Castiel is looking away from him, at the rest of the room, so Dean thinks he may even get away with it. Pleased despite himself, he unscrews the cap and makes to pour it into his cup… which is exactly when omnipotent schoolteacher Cas decides to rear his head, turning to his boyfriend with a look like he's just some exasperating kid. He snatches the flask out of Dean's hand, along with the cap, and sticks the damn thing into the inner pocket of his own jacket.

Dean whines, "Caas… c'mon, man."

Just as the math teacher opens his mouth, a finger raised to reprimand, another voice cuts him off.

"Sorry, can I get to the punch bowl?" a red haired woman asks, her voice polite but unyielding. Dean mumbles an apology and steps aside with Cas, but stops when he actually looks at her. She's staring at him with a look of recognition on her face and then Dean remembers her too. Her hair's a brighter, dyed red now where it was a much softer auburn before, but she's still the same girl he went after for years in high school. They had one night in the back of his car before they both went away to college and then he never heard from her again.

She doesn't look too pleased to see him actually and he again steps closer to Castiel for comfort. It's not that he thinks she can hurt him or anything. It's just… well, he doesn't think that there's a single person in this room tonight who will be genuinely happy to see him and happy for how his life changed. After only one conversation, he's already exhausted.

"Dean Winchester," she says flatly, her expression tight and closed. "Long time, no see."

"Yeah," he agrees, shifting uncomfortably and unsure what else to say. Castiel rests his hand on Dean's side, reminding him that he's there and Dean rushes to introduce them, "Oh, uh, Cas. This is Anna. Anna Milton. We, um, knew each other. In high school."

The look that she shoots him is nothing short of incredulous and he thinks she's going to say something about Castiel's hand on his waist, but what comes out instead is a harsh bark of a laugh.

"I suppose you can say we knew each other," she scoffed. "But I think a better way to phrase it would be that you harassed me for four years all while bullying my best friend mercilessly."

He decides that bringing up the fact that she slept with him despite that probably isn't the best idea.

"Um. Sorry," he tries, and he means it but he doesn't think it came out sounding too sincere. He clears his throat nervously and tries again, "That's sorta why I'm here. Trying to… I'm just really f—really sorry."

She stares at him for a long time, as if deciding whether or not she believes him, which is of course when she finally notices Cas.

"Who is this?" she asks, her tone much more subdued now.

He takes Castiel's hand into his own, squeezes, and tells her, "This is Castiel, my partner."

He's already getting sort of tired of that word—never did like it very much—but he doesn't know what else to call him. Boyfriend is too little, lover just sounds weird. But partner… Becky was right to ask if they were business partners. It doesn't really give the whole sense of what they are. How can he clarify that this is the man he wants to spend the rest of his life with. That, even more than with Lisa, he thinks he could imagine having children with him. That no one has or probably will ever know him so well and that those little touches Castiel showers him with mean more to him than any of the one night stands.

He looks at Castiel and wonders for a moment how he got so fucking lucky. Of course, then the dude totally ruins the moment by rubbing his thumb over the corner of his mouth and murmuring something about red punch.

Grinning despite himself, he turns back to look at Anna, remembering now that they were having a conversation. She is currently gaping at the two of them, her eyes flicking from one to the other in shock.

"Partner…?" she repeats.

Dean doesn't have time to respond because that is when a handsome man with dark brown hair and green eyes joins them. He slides an arm around Anna's waist and Dean's eyes land on the gold band on his ring finger. So Anna's husband then.

"Hey, Annie, I was getting a bit worried about you," he says, looking at her with a smile on his face. She smiles back, tightlipped, and he turns to look at whom she is talking to. "Who's this?"

Clearing her throat, she introduces them, "Michael, this is Dean Winchester and his, uh, partner… what was it?"

"Castiel," Cas pipes up finally. She nods and then continues, "Dean, Castiel, this is my husband, Michael."

They shake hands, Michael smiling charismatically and looking really freaking familiar. Dean stares at him for a long time, unable to place why that face looks so familiar.

"So, wow," Anna interrupted his thoughts suddenly. "I thought I heard you married some girl out of college. What happened?"

Dean licks his lips, feeling edgy about having to say it over and over again.

"She passed away a few years back," he says quietly.

Anna's eyes widen and then she murmurs, "Oh, I'm so sorry." The crazy thing is that she looks like she actually means it. Like it matters to her that his wife died.

He just nods in response because even now he doesn't like to talk about it. The only person he's ever really talked to about this is Castiel, and that had been after a good deal of coaxing.

"What, uh, what about you?" he asks, his throat tight. She smiles sympathetically and starts to tell him about getting a degree in journalism and then going to work for Channel 9 in Kansas City.

"That's where I met Michael," she says, and suddenly Dean knows where he recognizes her husband's face. It's the same face that read off the headlines on this morning's news.

"That's great," Dean says and Castiel smiles. "How long since you tied the knot?"

"Seven years now," she informs them proudly. The look she shoots at her husband is one of total love and Dean gets that. He really, really gets that.

"What about you two?" she starts, and Dean knows she wants to ask him when he started swinging for the other team. Instead she settles for, "How did you meet?"

Now it's Dean's turn to look at the man he loves with adoration.

"He saved my life."


	3. Angel (part 1)

3.

_A/N: This one's a bit shorter than the last two chapters (sorry!) but I'm sort of breaking it into two parts so that you don't have to wait another week for the next bit. Enjoy! _

"He saved my life."

Castiel shoots his lover an incredulous look. "I hit you with my car," he disputes. The sandy-haired man just smirks and shrugs.

"And then you saved me," he replies easily. Castiel doesn't even try to refrain from rolling his eyes this time. Who would have thought that the romantic one of the two of them would be Dean?

Anna starts to laugh, loudly, clutching at her middle while all three men turn their attention on her.

"What?" Dean asks before he can stop himself.

She shakes her head and responds, "I just never thought I'd see the day Dean Winchester waxed poetic about meeting his boyfriend."

Dean gets why she's laughing, but he also gets that thinking about Castiel really does make him feel like he wants to spout poetry. The thing is though, that Dean wasn't just being romantic or poetic when he said that. Castiel really did save his life. He was very near the end of his rope, ready to give up, when Castiel found him. Or rather, hit him with his car.

_Five and a half years ago…_

It wasn't sunny outside. Dean remembers this very clearly—it's important to the story. But that was also the first thing he thought when he woke up that morning. At six o'clock in the morning, it was still relatively dark out, but he could hear the pitter patter of rain on the roof. It wasn't sunny. It had been sunny the day Lisa died, bright and warm and totally unassuming. You'd think the sky should open up and start pouring on a day like that, but no. It was sunny.

So, if Dean was just a little relieved that it had been a rainy winter this year, he thought it was pretty justifiable.

Sighing to himself and turning off his alarm clock, he sat up in bed and rubbed a hand over his face. It was too goddamn early, and for several minutes he simply sat there and contemplated sleeping in for once. It wasn't like he technically had anywhere to be. That was the thing he had always liked the most about being his own boss and working from his home office: having his own hours. Nowadays, however, it just meant that he stuck to his old schedule because he didn't know what he would do if he didn't.

Sighing again, he stared around their room with bleary eyes. His room, he corrected himself. Now it was just his room, even though it was Lisa who had insisted on painting the walls a calming light brown color. Even though it was Lisa who had picked out the light-colored curtains and stressed the need to hand artwork on the walls.

But it was just his room now.

With one last sigh—seriously, when did he start sighing so much?—Dean dragged himself out of the warmth of his stupidly soft sheets and set his feet on the cold floor. They had gone for hard wood flooring to replace the tacky carpeting that had been here when they bought the house. While it was all really pretty and shit, Dean couldn't help to think that there was something to say for warm carpet on a cold morning like this.

Puttering over to his dresser, he pulled out his running clothes, huffing out a noise of amusement at the fact that what he had grabbed were all as gray as the day outside. Sweats, t-shirt, a hoodie. He strapped his iPod to his arm, starting his running music even as he pulled his shoes on. Zeppelin was, he knew, pretty cliché for him these days, but anything familiar, old, purely for _him_ was good. If it didn't remind him too much of her, it was good.

He made his way downstairs sluggishly, knowing that he should really be moving around more to warm up his limbs before going out into the cold but having a hard time finding the motivation. That was part of his problem these days. Motivation.

Moving a little faster through the living room, he brushed the book sitting precariously at the edge of the coffee table. In a whirl of fluttering pages and a soft thump, it was on the ground. Horrified, Dean jumped at it and set it back on the table, opening it up to the same page and then just staring at it for a moment longer. It was some chick book by Nicholas Sparks, something he would have been embarrassed to be anywhere near, let alone keep in his living room. Now he could barely stand the sight of it, but he couldn't move it either. She had been reading it the night before… the night before the accident.

Swallowing down a set of tears he had long moved past being embarrassed about, at least in the comfort of his own home, he continued his original path to the kitchen. He needed water so he could go on his run. It wouldn't do to go for a run without having had some water.

He turned his focus onto the task of grabbing a glass from the cabinet and filling it up with water from the task, making a note to do the dishes when he got home. He hadn't done them in… a long time, and they were beginning to pile up.

Gulping down the water, he set the glass next to the sink along with all the glasses he had drunk from in the last few days, and headed for the back door. It had stopped raining by now, but it was still seriously foggy and cold. Already bouncing on his feet, trying to warm up, he pulled out the key they kept hidden under the mat and locked the door behind him. It was too foggy to see much of the backyard, but that didn't much matter to him. The fog just served as to reinforce what he usually did. That is, ignore the grass that was still kept up by the gardener he paid to take care of everything once a week. There was a barbeque sitting abandoned just beyond the line of fog and he couldn't help but be grateful. Trying not to think too hard on why that was, he jogged out of the yard, letting the gate slam closed behind him.

With that he was off, down the street of his suburban neighborhood, enjoying the privacy that a morning this cold provided. He ran past the park, toward the neighborhood across from it. In his ears, John Fogerty was singing about a bad moon rising and looking back now, Dean thinks that's pretty damn fitting.

That was when it happened. His earphones filled his ears with the lyrics, "_Hope you got your things together/hope you're quite prepared to die_," and he stepped out into the street. Then it was a bright light, the sound of brakes and the feeling of flying. He landed on his back, fog above him, headlights shining on him, Creedance Clearwater Revival still playing quietly from buds that had fallen out of his ears. And the only thing he could think was, it wasn't so bad. His brain felt fuzzy and his vision seemed to be sliding into darkness quickly, but everything felt light and airy. Maybe this was how Lisa had felt. Was it irony to die nearly the same way she did, almost a year after her? He wasn't sure. He wasn't even sure what irony was anymore.

Then there was a face above him. Pale, blue, black. That's all he seemed to process even though he knew words were being spoken. Questions, he realized.

_Are you okay… so sorry… your name? _

Dean gasped in a breath, trying to form a word, trying to make his lips move and his tongue work. He didn't know if he managed it, but the last thing he thought before everything finally subsided to a peaceful nothingness was one word.

"Angel."


	4. Angel (part 2)

4.

_Sorry it took so long! Life got in the way of my writing. Hope you enjoy this one though! _

If he could have avoided driving that morning, he would have. The one thing he hated more than driving with other cars on the road? Driving in fog, when he _couldn't see_. But it wasn't to be. Maybe it was fate or maybe it was just a random happenstance. It doesn't matter now, although Castiel still thinks about it sometimes. He likes to think that it was providence, though maybe that's a little narcissistic of him.

In many ways it truly did seem meant to be. Maybe it was.

Castiel had always hated driving. Most sixteen-year-olds anticipate passing their driver's tests for months in advance—Castiel put it off as long as he could. He much preferred riding his bike, or even the bus, over having to drive himself. He wasn't sure why. It probably had something to do with his crippling fear of other cars on the road or the fact that he was absolutely convince he was going to hit one of them. So really maybe he just hated driving with other cars on the road.

The point is that he generally avoided driving like the plague. This week of all weeks he had pulled the short stick and gotten morning detention duty. The school was too far away for him to ride a bike and it was too early to take the bus. So it was that that morning, Castiel found himself driving to work in some of the thickest fog he'd ever been in. Humming to himself, trying to keep calm and think about all the papers he had to grade, Castiel sped up. He just wanted to be there already. Wasn't it bad enough that he had to spend an hour with a bunch of sullen troublemakers? Did he really have to spend a half hour before that trying to keep four tons of metal and gasoline on the road too?

There was a small hill, not far from the school, that he generally drove down because it was faster than going around. Near the bottom, the road curved sharply and intersected one of the many residential streets in the area. It was a blind turn, but he had the right-of-way so he never really worried about it too much. Maybe he should have. Or maybe not, all things considered.

The point is this: Castiel certainly couldn't have seen the grey clad figure step into the road and likely couldn't have stopped the car quickly enough even if he had after that turn. They put in a new stop sign at the bottom of the hill and everything (he spent the next several weeks trying to remind himself of this if only because it meant that what happened next wasn't all his fault).

He may not have seen the early morning runner step out into the road, but he certainly noticed when the man fell under his car's headlights, a startled look on his face. Castiel wasn't sure how that expression was able to register, how that moment seemed to stretch so long… He knew what happened next. Had seen enough movies to know how the tires would screech and the lights would seem to flash. He hadn't known how his heart would feel as if it had stopped, how his ribs would feel cracking against his seatbelt. He hadn't known the way the whole car would lurch forward and dip down just slightly or the way that it felt to hit something and know that that something was a human being.

Dazed and more than a little shell-shocked, Castiel gasped for breath, unable to move for a long moment. He thought it was probably less than a minute that he sat there like that, his foot still slammed on the break and his car still running, before everything clicked back into place. Taking another shaky breath, he slammed the gear into park and shut the engine off. Then, without any coherent thought, he yanked the door open and stumbled out of the car. He was shaking, couldn't seem to get his mind to form a single for sentence, but he knew there was a person in front of his car—because of his. A human being, possibly dead, all because he was an incompetent driver.

Feeling half drunk with his dizzying thoughts and jello legs, Castiel tripped his way over to the man laying out in an awkward position on the road.

_Please be okay, please be okay, please be okay. _

_ Don't be dead. _

Kneeling beside the man, Castiel tried to form words with chattering teeth and a tongue that felt as if it had swollen to twice its size.

"Sir? Are you okay?" he choked, his fingers skating over the man's chest uncertainly. Somewhere in the back of his mind he could remember hearing something about not jostling a person if there was a chance that their back was broken. He was laid own on his back, blinking slowly, lips parted. He was alive.

"I'm so sorry, please forgive me," Castiel found himself muttering, still scrambling to figure out what to do. He needed to pull himself together. He needed to figure out how to fix this, how to help this person he had injured so badly.

So of course the next words out of his mouth are the opposite of useful.

"What's you name?" he asked, not even sure why he asked it.

The man on the ground blink at him, once, twice, green eyes shining and glassy. His lips parted and he answered, "Angel."

Then his eyes closed and Castiel thought that was it. He was dead. He was dead and Castiel had _killed _him.

Anna gasps and Castiel feels his cheeks warming. Perhaps he should have left out some of his idiotic reactions to finding Dean lying there on the ground, but then the woman is laughing. Eyes widening, Castiel looks at his partner for an explanation—this is Dean's old classmate after all—but Dean looks as confused as he feels.

Pushing a lock of nearly wine red hair behind her ear, the woman asks, "You told him your name was _Angel?_"

Castiel feels a sort of vindication at her reaction. He is not the only one who thinks that that is what happened. He asked a question and Dean answered—it wasn't his fault that Dean didn't hear the question.

And then it dawns on him what he just admitted to for Dean. The taller man glares at him, shuffling almost sheepishly—which is just adorable, though Castiel will pretend he didn't notice it later—and then shrugs.

"I wasn't saying _I _was an angel," he replies in a muttered response.

That of course earns him a gasp and an adoring, "Awww! Dean Winchester, you romantic son of a bitch!"

Dean purses his lips and looks away. Cas decides that's probably his cue to continue the story.

Eyes prickling and thoughts racing, the schoolteacher remembered the phone in his pocket. 911. He had to call 911.

The operator who answered sounded bored, which Castiel couldn't imagine considering her job.

"I—I've hit someone," he tried to explain. He slides a hand over his mouth and then whispers into the receiver, "Dear Lord, I think I've killed him…"

"Where are you?" the voice on the phone demanded, sounding more urgent now. Castiel looked up at the street sign, squinting and cursing the fog that still clung to the street. When he deciphered the words, assisted by his memories of driving this route a few weeks ago, he barked them back at her.

And then that was that. He just had to wait next to this man that he had probably killed while an ambulance came to get them. Looking over at the fair-haired man—Angel—Castiel had the sudden feeling that no matter what happened, his life would never be the same.

He was right.


	5. Lisa

"Anna!"

A voice cuts through Castiel's thoughts and interrupts his story. Anna's face lights up with recognition and then she is turning toward a thin man with dark brown hair and thick eyebrows. She throws her arms around his neck with of glee as she stands up on her tiptoes to reach him. He towers over her. Castiel imagines that he must be at least as tall as Dean's brother.

"Barnes, god, it's been forever," she gasps, looking far happier to see this man than she had been about seeing Dean. Castiel looks over at his lover to see how he's reacting, if he recognizes this Barnes person. From the pursed lips and clenched teeth, Cas thinks he probably does.

Anna and Barnes step away from one another, both grinning widely.

"Anna, I have to say, you get prettier every time I see you," he told her, his eyes crinkling at the corners.

She rolled her eyes and then turned to her husband. "Michael, you remember Barnes?" she asks. "He was at the wedding."

He nods in recognition and they shake hands quickly. Then she turns back toward Dean and her smile slipped. "And, uh, you remember… Dean?"

The moment when Barnes turns his head toward the man in question seems to go in slow motion, and Castiel sees it all. Sees the way Barnes' good humor drains from his face, the way the tension in Dean's body racks up tenfold, the almost nervous look in Anna's eyes. He doesn't know what is going on here, or who Barnes is, but something tells him that he and Dean were not friends in school. Moreover, something tells him that this man is one of the many reasons Dean still feels so guilty about his high school years, and why he didn't want to come back here. They had talked about it. Castiel knew that Dean did a lot of things that he regretted now, but he also knew the man Dean was today. He didn't want him to carry that weight anymore.

This was why he had so pushed for them to come here.

"Dean _Winchester?" _His voice is reedy, high pitched with what Castiel thinks must be shock. He turns an incredulous look back on Anna who tries a little smile.

"Uh, yeah," she started. "We were… talking."

"We? With Dean dick-bag Winchester?" his voice rises with anger and Castiel bites the inside of his cheek. Dean huffs out a short breath beside him. "As in the guy who tormented me for four freaking years? The same one who ditched you after junior prom and then called you a fag hag?"

Dean hisses in a breath. Cas looks at the pained look on his face and wonders whether he had forgotten about that or merely hoped no one would bring it up.

"Barnes, I think maybe you'll be interested to hear what's happened in the last decade," Anna answered simply.

Barnes just stares at her and then back at Dean, opening his mouth to say something when their little group is joined by another man. He is what Castiel politely thinks of as _large_. He is also shorter than Barnes, a fact that is made abundantly clear when he sidles up to him and kisses the thin man on the cheek.

Ah.

Now Cas understands exactly what is going on here. Dean did mention the fact that he had projected his own fears about his sexuality onto other people, though not in so many words.

Dean swallows loudly enough that Castiel can hear him and he looks over at his lover with concern. The younger man does not meet his eye.

"Barnes? Everything okay?"

Apparently Castiel isn't the only concerned boyfriend here. The man he assumes is Barnes' boyfriend or partner is looking at all of them with a sort of worried threat in his eyes, as if to say, "I don't know what you did, and I don't know how I'll do it, but if you hurt him, I'll hurt you." Cas has to say that he understands the sentiment.

"Just fine, yeah," Barnes replies, his voice bordering on hysteria. "I mean, one of my oldest friends is just talking to the guy who made every single day for four years a living hell. But I'm just fine."

Now the man turns his glare on Dean and Castiel—he doesn't know which one of them Barnes is referring to, so he settles on looking between the two of them. Dean coughs.

"Uh, look," he starts, but Barnes isn't having it.

"No, no!" he snaps. "You don't get to say anything! You don't get to try and apologize, or try and explain yourself! Do you _get _what it was like to be in fear every single day of high school? Do you _get _what it feels like to have _everyone _hate you because of who you are?"

"Yeah, I kinda do," Dean mutters. Castiel grabs his hand, needing to comfort him somehow because he hates this. He hates it when the man he loves gets that faraway look in his eye, when he seems so unreachable. He hates that Dean hated himself for so long, that he still does sometimes.

_"What?"_ Barnes demands. "How could _you _possibly know?"

Dean is silent for a long time, just breathing slowly and still not looking at Castiel. When he does finally speak again, however, it is looking straight into those blue eyes he loves so much.

"Because I hated myself for a really long time," he says finally.

Castiel can't help himself. He loves this man so much that he doesn't think he could ever explain the way he feels if he started writing now and continued for the rest of his life. Pressing his palm to Dean's cheek, he kisses him. Nothing else matters, not even the fact that they are in Kansas surrounded by people who hate Dean for one reason or another. The rest of the room dissolves into nothing but background noise so that it's just the two of them, just for a moment.

"Wait, _what?" _

They pull apart, looking at each other for a moment before turning to look back at the little group that is staring at them. Castiel feels his face heat up with embarrassment. They aren't usually much up for public displays of affection, but he couldn't resist.

"I told you you'd wanna hear what's happened to Dean since graduation," Anna chimes in then, her grin back in place.

"Cas, this is one of the people I… told you about," Dean tells him then, quietly. "And, Barnes… This is my partner, Castiel."

Barnes is gaping at them, his jaw dropped in a way that would be almost comical in other circumstances. As it is, Castiel is still worried about his lover, worried that maybe he shouldn't have forced Dean to come here. What if this doesn't help? What if this man, Barnes, doesn't forgive Dean and it makes him feel even guiltier about what he did in high school?

Before Barnes can pull himself together and shut his jaw, the man with him steps forward and introduces himself, "Hi, I'm Damien. Barnes's partner."

Cas reaches out to shake his hand quickly, happy to see that Dean follows suit, and even happier that Anna breaks the tension by speaking again.

"Castiel was actually in the middle of telling us about how he and Dean met," Anna says, grinning maniacally.

Finally Barnes opens his mouth again, blurting, "But how did you get past the whole homophobia thing?"

He turns red as soon as the words are out, probably not having meant to ask that. Dean coughs and, while Castiel knows the answer to that, he doesn't think that it is his story to tell. The lack of conversation hangs over them for a long time, broken only by what Castiel thinks were popular songs in the 90s. It is unpleasant.

And then, just when he thinks that Dean really won't respond, Dean rasps, "My wife. Lisa. She sorta knocked some sense into me."

Confusion. Both of the two new comers to their group stare at him in confusion and it is Damien who asks, "But… aren't you gay?"

Dean's lips quirk up into a small smile and he shrugs. "I'm not straight, but I ain't totally gay either. And Lisa… she helped me figure that out. She was… God, she was great. We met in college."

Castiel rubs Dean's lower back for support, knowing that it is difficult for him to talk about his deceased wife. But talk he does, and though the story is one he has heard before, Cas listens attentively.

_Eight years ago…_

Lisa was beautiful. That was the first thing that Dean ever noticed about her, but he was also nineteen the first time he saw her so he figured it was excusable. The thing was, it never stopped being true. She got more beautiful every day and Dean was certain that it was so much more than just the way she looked—though there was definitely something to be said for the fact that she was fucking hot. She radiated something else, something he couldn't put into words. Strength maybe. Love. Kindness. Snark.

Yeah, by the ripe age of twenty, Dean was pretty freaking sure that he was in love. He had never felt this way before, never looked at another person and thought, "This is it. This is the rest of my life." More than that, he had never imagined that he could think something like that and… be excited. He could see doing things with her, and not just sex. He wanted to hold her hand, and talk, and hell, hang out and not talk or really do anything.

That didn't mean he liked her insinuating that he was into dick. Because he wasn't. He wasn't a homo.

"Dammit, Lise, could you seriously stop joking around like that?" he snapped after yet another gay joke at his expense. "I'm not gay, _god_."

Lisa stared at him, the laughter that had been bubbling from her lips now falling away. Frowning, she shook her head.

"I never said you were _gay_, Dean," she told him quietly. He thinks maybe that's that and turns back to what he was doing—writing an essay and watching a soap opera. And then she starts talking again.

"But Dean… you know it's not an issue if you also like guys, right?" she asked carefully.

"I. Don't. Like. _Guys_," he repeated for what must have been the millionth time. Lisa stared at him and then dropped it, setting her messenger bag down on the ground and then sitting next to him on the couch. Figuring that she would be less likely to try continuing the conversation if he looked busy, he set his pencil to paper and continued with his essay.

It was stupid really. Why did people keep trying to get him to admit that he liked dudes? Seriously? He didn't. Jeez.

"I mean, that guy's really hot," Lisa said abruptly, breaking his train of thought. He let out a long breath, trying to be patient but not really succeeding. She was pointing at one of the men on screen, and she continued, "There is so seriously no shame in wanting to hit that. I'd wanna hit that. Hell, I'd love to watch you hit that."

"Lisa!" Dean yelped, scandalized. "Seriously! I'm not… just. Could you stop?"

She sighed and then nodded, placing a hand on his shoulder. "I'm not saying you are. I'm just saying that if you were into guys too, I'd be way cool with that."

He nodded jerkily and then went back to his essay, the words swimming in front of him nonsensically.

It didn't come up again for a long time and when it finally did, it wasn't Lisa who brought it up. Two weeks until finals, summer just in their reach and everything to be thinking about, yet all Dean could concentrate on was what his girlfriend had said. Because, okay, so maybe—capital-M-_Maybe—_he was a little uncomfortable with his sexuality. Yeah, he was totally in love with a woman, but… Well, he had kind of noticed some guys before. A little.

They were sitting at their own table in the library for a forced study session that she had dragged him to for finals when he suddenly couldn't be silent anymore.

"Is it really okay with you?" he blurted out, a little more loudly than he had intended. She was sitting across from him with a textbook and some flash cards laid out in front of her, and now she looked up at him with confusion written in wide brown eyes.

"What?" she whispered back, looking around at the dirty looks being shot in their direction. He leaned in closer to her and lowered his voice.

"If, uh, I mean," he tried, clearing his throat. "If I liked guys. And girls."

She looked as if she was trying very hard not to roll her eyes when she replied, "Of course, Dean. I just want you to be open with me. You've been carrying this around and I can tell. Don't sweat it, babe. It's called being bi and it's actually really hot."

And that was that. From then on, when she pointed out a hot guy, she asked him if he liked him too. He told her about being harassed in middle school; about joining with Alastair's group to prove that he wasn't gay; about being freaked out because he liked girls, but also guys. She listened and… got it. Got him. This was it. She was the one.

Dean was twenty years old and he knew who he wanted to spend the rest of his life with.


	6. Sorry

6. Sorry

_I am so sorry that it has taken me so long to post the next chapter and that this is so short! School is crazy but hopefully I'll have the next one soon…?_

"Wait, so you just hit him over the head and that knocked some sense into him?" Barnes is laughing, holding his stomach after listening to Dean and Castiel quickly recap their story so far. Anna demanded to hear the rest but the two newcomers had not yet heard the beginning. Dean decides that Castiel's dry retelling left something to be desired.

"That is _not _how it happened," Dean disputes even while his lips tug upward and can't help the wave of affection toward the storyteller. "There was more to it than that."

Castiel nodded earnestly. "It wasn't quite so easy going as you may imagine."

_Five and a half years ago… _

The nurse's voice was filled with sympathy when she told him quietly, "He's suffered some pretty severe head trauma. We'll need to relieve the pressure… This could take some time. You don't need to stay…"

Castiel shook his head, shocked that she would even suggest it. He had already called in to work, so he would only be going home anyway. The very idea of going back to his empty house and just waiting to find out if he had killed someone… He couldn't do that. He wouldn't do that.

"No," he said simply, unable to say anymore.

She nodded sympathetically, and then suggested, "You may want to speak with a lawyer about this…"

He nodded, numb and confused as to why he would need to do that. It clicked a moment later and he stopped nodding. A lawyer. Because he may have killed someone.

A little while later he found himself sitting on one of those awful plastic chairs that he had never had to sit in so long before. He was not totally sure how he had gotten there, but it was unpleasant. A woman was weeping on the other side of the room, interrupting the relative quiet of the emergency room waiting area. He had been given to believe that it would be much louder and busier than it was, but perhaps midmorning on a Wednesday was a slow day for emergencies. A few people had come and gone since. A man with a kitchen towel wrapped around a bleeding hand, a young girl with a broken arm, one young woman who had been so violently sick that the doctors had rushed her through the waiting room immediately. In the corner of the room, an old television was mounted and was currently playing some kind of soap opera. It seemed out of place, but he noticed the nurses behind the desk watching aptly over whatever paperwork they were also working on.

At a certain point, a couple hours after he got there, when the shock had worn off enough, he found himself turning glazed eyed on the television screen. It was insipid, but the weeks-old magazines, laid out on low tables and thoroughly rifled through, held absolutely no interest for him. Some particularly awful medical drama had come on when the nurse from before finally returned.

"Mr. Novak?" she called. He jumped up immediately, pausing when he realized that his leg had fallen asleep. Shaking it out as subtly as was possible, he limped toward her.

"Yes? Is he alright?" he asked hopefully. She didn't look as if she had bad news, but she wasn't smiling either.

"The procedure was successful, but he hasn't woken up," she informed him quietly. "There's really no reason for you to wait here anymore today. We'll call you if there is any changes in his condition."

He nodded and then hesitated before asking, "May I come back tomorrow?"

She sighed. "Seeing as he has no identification, and no family that we know of… you could come and visit him. He'll be moved to the ICU for tonight, but for now we don't know what'll happen. It could take him days to wake up. If he wakes up at all."

She shot him a meaningful look that he thought was meant to prepare him for the worst. He swallowed but decided to push that thought aside. Angel. The man's name was Angel, and he was going to live.

After the nurse gave him details about coming back the next day, he shakily made his way home. His car looked like nothing had happened, perfectly uninjured despite having so hurt an innocent man. It was an unsettling sight, but he pushed those thoughts aside for now.

The next day, Castiel skipped work again, not quite ready to return yet. Having pulled himself together far more than the day before, he called his cousin Zachariah about possible consequences of the crash. Zachariah was technically a divorce lawyer, but he knew the law nonetheless. He didn't seem particularly worried about charges being pressed, but recommended a couple lawyers just in case.

Once that was done, he sank down into his favorite chair to just think for a little while. He needed to work on lesson plans and he had a pile of grading to do that he really shouldn't put off much longer—it all seemed so mundane. As if there wasn't a man dying in the hospital right at this moment because of him.

He sighed. Then he sighed again. Okay, sighing wasn't really helping anything. He sighed one more time at his own thoughts and then stood up again. He could be productive and when visiting hours started, he would go visit Angel. Decision made, Castiel nodded to himself and looked at his cluttered apartment, then at the stack of ungraded papers strewn haphazardly across his coffee table. He would definitely be able to keep his hands busy until it was time to go.

He sighed.

Castiel had decided to take the bus, which was better than driving, but still unpleasant. Most days he really just wished he could take wing and fly where he needed to go, but since it didn't seem like that wish was going to be granted any time soon, he had to use regular transportation like everyone else.

Three busses, a short walk, and one hour later, Castiel found himself at the hospital for the second time in years. He very rarely got sick, and even more rarely felt the need to actually go to a hospital so being there two days in a row was _unpleasant._ It wasn't even that he had anything in particular against hospitals, although his reason for being there now might end up being the bad experience that kept him away from now on.

The nurse at the front desk nodded grimly when he told her why she was there, then made him wait while she talked to someone on the phone. He assumed it was her advisor, but whoever it was apparently decided that he would be allowed to go sit with the man he had hit. Angel. He had said his name was Angel.

Angel was still unconscious and had moved to a room with light green walls and a television that was turned on to some soap opera. There was a young woman in scrubs attending to the IV in Angel's arm, who smiled slightly when Castiel walked in. He must have been rather obvious with his staring at the television because the nurse laughed. Truthfully, he really couldn't imagine why there would be a television in a room with a coma patient.

"I'm sure you've heard people say that it's good to talk to patients in comas?" the nurse asked pleasantly. She had soft eyes and a kind mouth, the kind of nurse one saw in commercials or textbooks, but rarely in reality. Castiel hoped she was as kind as she looked.

Castiel inclined his head in affirmation and she continued, "Sometimes we like to leave the televisions on for patients when they are alone, so it still feels like there are people around."

Castiel nodded in understanding, because that is exactly what he was doing here. No one knew who his Angel was, so he had no family or friends to keep him company. Logically, he knew that his being here really probably wouldn't do much good, but it felt like the least he could do after nearly killing the man. Even now, it was uncertain whether he would ever wake up, but Castiel had to remain as hopeful as possible or else he would drive himself crazy.

The nurse left and Castiel found himself alone with Angel for the first time since the ambulance had come to get him. He moved to sit down next to the man, looking down at his prone form, and was suddenly hit with the image of stunning green eyes. Angel had green eyes, but they might never open again.

"I'm sorry," he told him. "I am so sorry."

Angel's machine beeped accusingly and he put his face in his hands. "I'm so sorry."


End file.
